Under Cover

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeTwo days later, Ruth and Trevor stood with the mourners at Amelia's graveside where the late afternoon sun cast a soft glow on the stained glass windows of the nearby church. An occasional sob cut through the vicar's words.

“Our beloved Amelia was taken from us. Although we don't understand why, we know she is in a better place where she is no longer suffering the trials of this world. God understands your grief. His son lost a loved one. Lazarus. Jesus wept for Lazarus's death and the loss experienced by Lazarus's family. Let his words comfort you.”

The breeze whipped the tissue-paper pages of the man's Bible when he opened the slim, leather-bound volume to read. “From John, Chapter Eleven, we read, 'I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.'”

Ruth sniffed then knuckled at the tears filling her eyes. Trevor pulled his white handkerchief from his front pocket and pressed it into her hand. After drying the moisture from her face, she gave him a grateful smile. Too bad Varis couldn't get time off from work to attend the funeral. She would have appreciated the pastor's words.

Thoughts of her sister, Jane, flooded Ruth's mind. Jane who had been killed because she tried to blackmail a powerful, evil man. Lord, help me. Being here is so painful. Suffering through the funeral of one so young. Is Amelia like Jane? Dead because she did something she shouldn't have? Father, guide Trevor. Help us find the truth.

The vicar intoned the benediction. The grieving group moved forward and tossed handfuls of dirt into the grave. The rocky soil fell with muted thuds onto the plain wooden casket. Ruth and Trevor filed past the hole then shuffled across the grass toward the cars parked on the macadam.

Ruth surveyed the cemetery. Dozens of fresh graves bore testament to the effectiveness of Hitler's bombing raids. There was talk of a German invasion. Would the Nazis succeed? Would there be more freshly dug graves in the churchyard in the not-too-distant future? She shuddered and gripped her purse tighter.

Light flashed from a grove of shrubs about fifty yards away. Ruth stopped walking. Shielding her eyes, she squinted across the grassy knoll. “Trevor, did you see that?”

“See what?”

She pointed to the foliage. “I'm not sure. There was a reflection or something from over there. Or maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

The bushes rustled, and a man emerged from among the branches.

Ruth's eyes widened. “That's him. The man who ran into me after Amelia fell.”

“We should talk to him.” Trevor shouted at the man. “You there!”

The man cast a look over his shoulder at them and exclaimed. Yanking his coat closed, he sprinted toward the church.

“Stay here!” Trevor dashed toward the retreating figure.

j

Ruth checked the small, heart-shaped watch pinned to her blazer. Trevor had been gone more than ten minutes. Had he caught the mysterious man? Sighing loudly, she crossed and uncrossed her arms.

One of the women, who stood at the far side of the dusty parking lot with Amelia's coworkers, beckoned to Ruth. Smiling, she strode toward them. Finally. A chance to speak with someone who might know something.

Liz, a Katharine Hepburnesque woman, sandwiched Ruth's hands in hers. “Can you believe we're here? Why would Amelia kill herself? It's simply terrible.”

Ruth extricated herself from Liz's grip and caught sight of Trevor cresting the hill near the church. He jogged toward them. Red faced and out of breath, he shook his head at Ruth who frowned. Returning empty handed, he had obviously lost the man.

Trevor bowed slightly. “Forgive my appearance.”

Liz raised an eyebrow. “You're a police officer. I saw you looking at Amelia's dead body. Why are you here?”

“He's with me. Detective Inspector Trevor Gelson,” Ruth said.

Liz's arched eyebrow lifted higher, and her husky voice nearly squeaked. “Really?”

“Yes, and I'm sorry for your loss.” Trevor's gaze swept the group. “All of you. I understand Amelia was a lovely, young woman.”

“That's very kind of you to say, sir. I'm Desmond Sanders. Let me introduce everyone.” He gestured to each person as he spoke. “David Croxton, Randolf Thresher, Norbert Bettridge, Fran Weatherford, Blythe Mallicote, and Lizbeth Parr, our very own princess.”

Liz swatted Desmond with a gloved hand. “Silly. Father is only a baron.”

Trevor buttoned his coat. “Nice to make your acquaintance. I'm sorry to run out on you, but I must return to the station after taking Miss Brown to the Broadcasting House.”

“Sounds like you're on a schedule, old chap. We can take Ruth to work,” said David.

Trevor exchanged a glance with Ruth who nodded. “I can catch up with you tomorrow, Detective Inspector.”

“If you're sure...”

“Absolutely. I'm ahead of my deadline, and time with some of Amelia's other friends would be good.”

Understanding crossed Trevor's face. “Of course. Again, it was a pleasure to meet all of you despite the circumstances.” He walked to the car, the wind tugging at his jacket.

David narrowed his eyes at Ruth. “It must be some story as to why you're walking out with a detective inspector.”

She grinned. “The short version is I was bombed out, and a skeleton was unearthed under my house. Turns out the poor man was murdered. DI Gelson headed up the investigation.”

Liz tilted her head. “That's one way to meet a man. At least he's a detective inspector and not just one of the rank and file.”

“Not everyone wants to marry a millionaire, Liz,” David said with a scowl. He turned to Ruth. “You can ride with me. I'm going quite close to the Broadcasting House. Liz, Norbert, and Fran will be joining us, so it will be a tight squeeze.”

“I promise not to take up too much room.”

“It's settled, then.” David gestured toward the pair of vehicles in the otherwise empty parking lot. “My car is the one on the left. The Aston Martin.” The group began to walk toward the cars.

“His pride and joy, the two-litre-speed model,” Liz said with a sneer. “I prefer the original one-and-a-half-litre model.”

Desmond gaped at Liz. “I used to be a mechanic. How do you know about cars?”

She shrugged. “Daddy loves his cars. He collects them, so he has a full-time mechanic on staff.” She waggled her eyebrows. “A rather attractive man. I must admit, I had a bit of a crush on him when I was younger, although it never could have amounted to anything. He taught me a thing or two about engines. When my mum found out, she put a stop to the visits.”

Ruth frowned. The jovial chatter from Amelia's coworkers at her funeral belied their claims to care for her.

Norbert chuckled. “Well, aren't you a bundle of secrets, Liz.”

“What secrets? We've never talked about cars before.”

“The only thing I know about cars is the telephone number of the service station,” Fran said.

The group laughed, and Norbert nodded. “That's about my level of knowledge, too.”

Liz yawned widely. “Enough about cars. Are we leaving or aren't we?”

Goodbyes were exchanged as the group split up and climbed into the cars. Randolf got into the driver's seat of the other vehicle, and it roared away in a cloud of dust. David opened the front passenger door and motioned for Ruth to get inside. The other three riders crawled into the back seat. The doors slammed, and David drove out of the lot.

Liz sighed heavily. “I'm glad that's over. I hate funerals. They're so depressing. I didn't think the vicar was ever going to stop talking.”

“Mighty insensitive of you,” Norbert said. “Aren't you upset that Amelia is dead?”

“Of course I am. She was my dearest friend. That doesn't mean I have to enjoy her funeral.”

“We're not—”

Fran held up a hand. “Did you see the latest report about the fighting in North Africa? Our boys are giving Rommel a rough time in Tobruk.”

Norbert smiled. “Changing the subject, eh? Good for you. I did see something about that campaign. It's not over yet. I hope we can win. They don't call Rommel the 'Desert Fox' for nothing.”

“Did you hear it's not going well in Malta? The Italian Navy overtook a couple of the Allied convoys,” David said.

Liz pulled out a compact and powdered her face. “War, war, war. That's all anyone talks about.”

Ruth glanced at David who rolled his eyes. “Been a jolly inconvenience for you, Liz?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “How about if we talk about Amelia? I miss her already. She was a good sport.”

Fran dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I didn't see Owen at the funeral. Does he know she's dead?”

Silence filled the car, and Ruth held her breath. What do these folks know about Amelia's mysterious boyfriend?

“Does anyone know how to contact him?” Fran continued.

“Not without his last name.” Desmond said.

Norbert broke in. “I still think he's married, and that's why he's missing. I warned Amelia, but she wouldn't listen.”

Not wanting to hear Amelia disparaged, Ruth said, “There were several people I didn't recognize. Did you notice the older couple in the back? Dressed rather well. Who were they? Did they work with her?”

Desmond shook his head. “They aren't from the factory. Family, perhaps?”

“No, her parents were killed in the Blitz, and one brother is in the RAF. The other brother is a professor at Howard Hill Academy. He was there with Amelia's sister, the woman in the pillbox hat. Didn't you see them?” Liz said.

Desmond slapped his forehead. “I forgot about her parents.”

Norbert coughed. “None of you recognize them? They're Harold and Pearl Derby, head of the local chapter of the Communist Party. Amelia was a member. Didn't you know?”

Ruth's hand flew to her throat.

Fran gasped. “Do you think she was a fifth columnist, too?”

Liz flounced back into her seat. “It wouldn't surprise me. Amelia went missing from her desk without a reason on more than one occasion. Perhaps we thought she was slipping off to see Owen when she was actually involved in subversion.”

Ruth bit back a sigh. A Communist? Does Varis know?